


Brothers in blood and bond

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Dean feeding Sam demon blood against his will at least at first, M/M, and will be pretty fucked up by the end, but what do you expect out of a fic like this, it gets sexual eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets Sam hooked on demon blood again, his blood, and has plans for his little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First times are always rough

The first time it happened, he cried.

Sam had been told all the things that he wanted to hear. Dean had said he could be strong, that they’d figure it out, they could find someone to help and it would be all right Sammy, it would be all right.

He was so desperate to believe it he swallowed down the fear and loathing in his throat and did what he did best, cracked open the laptop and gathered a stack of books to do research.

He didn’t see it for miles coming, but he had been looking at his feet.

Dean cornered him, in his own bedroom, opening the door with silent gentle ease and closing it with barely a whisper of the lock. Sam’s hackles were raised immediately, there was something off about his brother, or at least even more severely off than there had been lately. He was radiating malevolence. Sam figured it kind of came with the territory, but this, this was concentrated, it was focused on Sam.

Sitting up right and setting his book aside, one of Sam’s hands sat idly in his lap while the other edged behind his back for the gun under his pillow. It wouldn’t really do anything, and he wasn’t even certain if he could pull the trigger against his brother, but the comfort of a weapon in his hand, the heft of it’s weight, was something he needed against the way Dean was looking at him.

“Dean, did you ah, you make any headway?”

“No, I haven’t. Came to check if you had.”

The bed sank and Sam’s body rolled towards his brother as Dean sat down next to him, cocky smirk twisting his lips but it didn’t lie on his face like it should.

“So? You find anything out little brother, you were always the brains of the operation huh, I’m sure you got something for me by now.”

“I’m working on it Dean. It’s kinda different to try to do something about a demon that’s not possessing a vessel, you know. “

Dean’s posture was relaxed, shoulder’s down and chest slightly hunched, but Sam felt tension, felt like he was wound tight and about to pounce. Sam didn’t know what to do about it, he wasn’t used to feeling anything like this from his brother, it didn’t feel like Dean, he didn’t want for it to be Dean.

“Uh huh. Well, I have a treat for you. Figured you could use a little extra boost.”

Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion, trying to piece together what his brother said, he wasn’t carrying anything with him, nothing Sam could see. There must be something in his pockets.

“I’m good. I can run on coffee. But, uh, thanks.”

Edging away from Dean towards the other side of the bed, it was difficult to attempt to be subtle about it and Sam knew he was transparent as Dean started edging towards him. His heart rate spike as he stilled and made a split second decision to dash for the door, a cold sense of dread heavy in the pit of his stomach. Lurching suddenly towards the edge of the bed, he was pulled back by a hand fisting in his shirt, inhuman strength tugging him down easily.

Sam could beat Dean in a fair fight about half of the time. But this wasn’t Dean. Struggling futilely to throw his brother off, hooking his leg and pivoting, squirming, writhing, fighting for purchase Sam couldn’t throw him off. Finding himself pinned down on his back with Dean straddling his waist rocking easily with the bucking of his hips, there was a smirk on Dean’s face, manic and wide, his eyes gone black and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t look, he couldn’t see his brother like this, couldn’t admit it to himself. It didn’t feel like his brother but it still looked like his brother except those black black eyes.

Feeling wetness pricking at his eyes Sam willed himself to calm down, muscles burning from straining to escape and being wrenched cruelly, he stilled and took deep breaths trying to wrack his brain for any out.

Until he felt a trickle of wetness at the seam of his mouth. Opening his eyes again, at least Dean was blinking down at him with green, but there was a blade in his hand gleaming with blood, and it was dripping down his other arm as well, bright bright red against pale skin covering the freckles and veins where it trickled down and oh god Dean was feeding him blood. Demon blood.

Sam clenched his teeth and pursed his lips tighter, fighting with renewed strength as he reached to grapple Dean to toss him. He only found himself a moment later pinned with one wrist held down and the blade at his own throat.

“Don’t be ungrateful now little brother. I know you like this. You liked it more than me before, liked it too much to quit it for me. Now you can have both.”

Thrashing his head side to side, long hair catching on the sweat across his face and the blood smearing his lips, he really did cry then, tear slipping down the crease of his temple into his hair.

“Don’t be sad Sammy. Have a taste, you’ll feel much better.”

A strangled sob bubbled in his throat and he couldn’t let it out, couldn’t unclench his mouth. Dean released his wrist to clamp a hand over his nose, pinching his nostrils. As much as Sam grabbed and dug his fingers into Dean’s wrist, his hip, his throat, nothing made the demon budge. The world was starting to fuzz at the edges with light headedness and Sam would suffocate if he were able to over write his body but as he heard the blood rushing in his ears and felt his pulse going sluggish his lips parted to gasp for air and he felt the tang of metallic earth hit his tongue sharp. A low simpering whine trickled out with his gasps, a litany of ‘Dean’ on his lips and everything was swimming with tears now.

“Shh, shh, that’s good, here, here, a little more and you’ll feel so much better.”

Dean lifted his arm and pressed the torn skin to Sam’s mouth and he wanted to wretch, wanted to tear away and seal himself shut, seal his lips so he couldn’t taste the demon blood, and seal his nose so he couldn’t smell it wet and rich, and seal his eyes so he couldn’t see the crimson glimmer of it, and seal his ears so he couldn’t hear Dean rasping comforting murmurs at him. But he wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t physically strong enough to overpower Dean like this and he wasn’t mentally strong enough to hurt his brother. Dean would just close over his nose again, would move on to worse things, Sam didn’t want to think of all the ways Dean could try to force blood down his throat.

It hit him slow, slow, coating his tongue in copper and sliding down his throat settling in his belly hot. It coiled there serpentine, tense, a knot that pulled and cramped in his stomach until it started to seep out, unfurling into his body and thrumming along his veins. It was warmth and power and promise singing in his fingertips and oh god he could remember it, how good it was to lose himself to something stronger, something so much more than he had ever been.

His tongue went slack as he opened his mouth wider, minutely, wavering on the cusp of something frightening and wanting to pull back but he felt the edge would crumble under his feet if he didn’t jump first. Like it was inevitable. He had the taste again. The muscle memory, sense memory, all the desperation and pain years ago that had been drowned in blood, the sense of overwhelming relief when the taste first hit him before reason flew to the wind.

Tears streamed down from his eyes and the pillow was wet under him with tears, blood and sweat. Dean was smiling, wearing his green eyes, knife set aside somewhere because there was a hand in his hair soothing it back from his face and curling over his ear, smudging the wetness on his cheeks as the pads of fingers were traced over his face.

“It’s ok brother, I got you.”

Something snapped in him, he didn’t know there many things left that hadn’t by this point, but it was sudden and followed with a backlash, a snap. Pushing his lips forward Sam opened his mouth wider around Dean’s arm and tongued the cut in his skin, coaxing more blood to flow as he swallowed, and swallowed, it was demon blood, it was more, it was his brother’s blood, it was power and release.

“That’s good Sammy. There’s nothing that can stop us now. Nothing. Heaven, hell, we’ll take them all down.”

The first time it happened he cried, but he didn’t shed a tear after that.


	2. Second times are usually shaky

The second time it happens, Sam is still avoiding him.

Not even a day after Dean held him down and forced blood into his mouth Sam could feel the thrumming, nervous itch. He was furious with Dean yet a little corner of his mind wanted to protest that it wasn’t all force, that he needed the illusion it was against his will but he wanted, he really did want it, and how sweet it was of his brother to give him what he needed. That voice made him want to wretch, to break things, to break mirrors specifically.

He contemplated running away and putting as much distance as he could between himself and Dean. But he couldn’t do that, that would mean leaving Dean lone, unsupervised, to do whatever it was he had the mind to do now. He contemplated killing Dean, they had Ruby’s knife still, or at the least he could set a devil’s trap and do more research.

There was something bitter and resentful in his mind that laughed and laughed; years ago their father had told Dean he might have to kill Sam, because Sam was corrupted, Sam was a monster. Dean couldn’t do it then, Sam couldn’t do it now. There wasn’t much left to do sometimes but laugh.

Not even twenty four hours and his anxiety was kicking up, fingers twitching, muscles shaking, a fever setting in that flushed his skin and clouded his brain. Just a taste and he was going through withdrawal. Dean’s blood had been almost sweet after he surrendered and swallowed it willingly. Under the biting hit of metallic iron there was thick saccharine familiarity. He wanted more. He didn’t want to sink back into what he had become, but so help him he wanted more.

Sam didn’t know if he could resist the temptation this time, if he was strong enough to detox and break the habit again. The only thing that kept him straight before, that set him right, that forced him through it, was Dean. And now Dean was the one pulling him back down.

He couldn’t sleep after the incident. He barely had any appetite for real food, choking down a piece of toast with mug after mug of bitter coffee. Nothing tasted right on his tongue after blood.

Very carefully avoiding Dean, Sam holed himself up in unfrequented corners of the bunker, taking books to distract himself but he ended up staring blankly at the pages and rocking his body back and forth. Even saliva didn’t taste right in his mouth. He could feel his own tongue, thick and dry and rough, saliva wasn’t enough to make it wet.

Sneaking into the kitchen for another mug of coffee, Sam had poured the hot liquid in an old blue glazed mug and was shuffling around uneasily, bare footed, t-shirt clinging to his torso with sweat and jeans slung low on his hips without a belt. The sound of the ceramic cup shattering and hot coffee burning his feet ripped him out of his dazed state. Staring numbly down at white toes splashed with brown liquid and little shards of cup scattering around him, Sam tried to make sense of it, but his hands were still shaking and he didn’t even hear Dean behind him.

“Something got you on edge Sammy?”

Whirling around with wide eyes and backing up away from his brother, broken pieces of ceramic digging into his feet and cutting deep he didn’t even notice, stooping lower in a defensive stance.

“You don’t look too good. I bet I can guess what you need.”

Shaking his head back and forth, mussed up hair flung across his eyes Sam was still clinging desperately to his sense of self.

“No no no, I don’t need that, Dean, we can, we can still do this you know, you and me, we can fight heaven and hell and we can do it just how we are, I don’t need that, please don’t, Dean, don’t….”

“You look like you can barely take care of yourself, come on, I’ll help get your strength up.”

Ceramic crunched under heavy boots as Dean advanced, backing him up against the counter and reaching out, his brother’s calloused hands coming up to grab his arms around the biceps and maneuver him around into a kitchen chair. Flopping down easily, Sam winced as pressure was taken off his feet and he could feel the blood flowing and the throbbing of the wound. He was paralyzed, his mind screaming at him to run get away hurt Dean kill him get away, but his body was screaming at him for more blood more power more strength.

Dean looked down at his feet, licking plump lips, and pulling back enough to fetch a kitchen knife from a drawer. Pushing the flannel over shirt up his arm and rolling it at the elbow, Dean drew the knife over his skin, the line from last night still faintly pink but healing rapidly, he cut just below that.

Sam didn’t hear himself whimper, tilting forward in his seat slightly, his whole body quivering from head to foot torn between conflicting instincts and wants. Blood began to flow down the curve of Dean’s arm, garishly crimson in the fluorescent light of the kitchen, spattering on the floor.

“Don’t waste it now, come on Sam.”

Dean held his bleeding arm several inches from Sam’s mouth but he didn’t press the wound to lips, didn’t force it like he had last night. He was waiting, calling Sam out, making him choose it, making him feel like he wanted it or needed it. Sam couldn’t decide at this point, everything was tilted and turned upside down.

Eyes locked on the slice along freckled skin his world narrowed in focus and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Letting his mouth fall open he drooped forward, wetness of blood on his lips and the scent in his nostrils. Couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t look away from what he was doing again, he wanted to scream wrong wrong wrong but his mouth opened and closed around the cut. The first tang of it on his tongue had him recoiling internally but once he swallowed and it settled dense in his stomach everything loosened and he groaned against Dean’s arm.

“That’s right brother, that’s good, take as much as you want.”

Flicking his eyes up he saw Dean smiling down at him, looking for all the world genuinely pleased, looking younger and happier than Sam had seen in years and he didn’t know why this should please Dean so much, didn’t know why he was pushing for it so hard, but something lodged in Sam’s chest and twined through his ribs pulsing with warmth to see his brother smile like that at him again.

The tremors he had subsided, the voracious hunger and cramping in his stomach eased to a pleasant sensation of satiation the more he drank. Bringing steady hands up, Sam clutched at Dean’s arm and pulled him closer, keeping him tight, teeth sinking into the flesh around the wound and lips sucking hard. The rush of pure raw need was visceral.

As soon as the pangs of hunger receded Sam eased a little, tongue lapping around the bloodied skin, down Dean’s forearm, resting his cheek there and breathing deep a moment. The sharp smell had his nostrils flaring as he curled his toes feeling the pain in his feet again.

“Look at you, making such a mess.”

Sam pulled off Dean’s arm and looked up, releasing his brother and bringing the back of his hand up to swipe at his face, bloodied from the tip of his nose and the arch of his cheeks down the column of his throat. He was wet, dripping with it, smeared and stained red. Sam wiped his face, and licked it from his hands.

Dean reached a hand out to him and patted his cheek.

“That’s good Sammy. But you should know, next time, I’m not going to come to you.”

Hands falling to his lap, Sam rested forearms against his thigh and hunched over himself, eyes staring past the red of his fingers to the mess of blue ceramic shards and coffee on the floor several feet in front of him. Dean’s footsteps were receding, a track of coffee and blood in his wake, and Sam could swear he was humming Ac/Dc.

He could feel the minutia of his body, feel autonomic functions that normally run of their own accord, feel the stretch of his muscles over bone and the pull of skin, feel the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins, feel the foreign power coursing in him and re-writing his chemical responses again, jump starting old pathways and sparking new. It was a familiar rush he had all but forgotten, never quite able to shake some nights when he felt so weak and small, something he had always felt ashamed of, something he had felt a need to be absolved of. He had felt like the trials would burn it all away, purify him, but he never finished them.

He would never find the forgiveness he wanted, had come to accept that the good he believed in was just different spun lies and manipulations. The one thing he wanted desperately to remain loyal to was his brother, who was now condoning this, giving him what he wanted, and they could tear it all down together. The blood in his stomach seeping through his body and humming with promises told him yes yes yes.

The second time it happened Sam had been avoiding him, but he didn’t run away.


	3. Third time's the charm

The third time it happened, Sam went to him willingly.

There was part of him that felt vindicated, for all the arguments they had and the rift that spread between them when Sam was drinking demon blood before, and here he finally had Dean on his side. Or, to be more accurate Dean was the one coaxing him back to that side. Forcing. No, no, persuading. Sam felt a small spiteful spike of vindication for that. He tried to remember when he had quit the habit, the feeling of guilt and self loathing. But there was nothing there, he kept drawing blanks when his mind went back further to when he was using and the sense of power and righteousness he had then.

It’s funny that Dean used to say he was an ex-blood junkie. But you’re never really an ex-junkie. You’re always just a junkie who hasn’t had a hit in a long time, and most people cave eventually. There is no such thing as an ex junkie.

It coursed in his blood, mingling, demon and human still. If he could use it how he had before, to have that ability, that advantage against demon’s while still remaining human, it could be used for good he felt. Even if they weren’t chasing down Lilith or trying to stop an apocalypse, there were still demons possessing innocent vessels, there was still Crowley, and Dean had said they could take down heaven and hell together.

Heaven, should they take down heaven, the gates were still mostly closed although it seemed some angels could get back in. There were so many of them walking the earth, lost and hurt. They had seen first hand how catastrophic it could be for an angel to be thrown down heaven, still struggling to fulfill what they believed their duty to be in their new environment, incapable of adapting. The angels were dangerous as well.

And he was the one that failed to close the gates of hell after all, he could of shut it all down, could of sealed all the demons away. Shouldn’t he use this to right those mistakes.

Sam didn’t know where they going to wind up with this, didn’t know if he could even keep Dean in line like he desperately wanted to convince himself, if he really could use this ability to his advantage, but he felt the need singing in his body like a siren’s song promising everything he ever wanted. At least he couldn’t remember wanting anything but this.

He didn’t hold out as long this time, Dean’s promise echoing in his head that Sam would have to be the one to initiate if he really wanted it. Sam could in a vague distant way recognize that this was a manipulation, that this was Dean making him choose under the guise of illusion and pushing his hand. But oh how he wanted to believe it was his brother giving him a choice, giving him the space to decide.

Sam didn’t even know what time it was, he had lost track of hours and minutes while he curled on his bed trying to remember facts and not warped perceptions, trying to straighten things out to what they were and not what he wanted, trying to ignore the fever in his body. He made his choice, eventually, uncurling from his bed and padding quietly down the bunker hallway, soft lit sconces on the walls keeping it permanently one time of day while it was sealed away from outside light, outside time, outside influence.

His feet ached from the cuts where he had stepped on shards of the mug, bandaged up now, thick padding making it awkward to walk, the soles of his feet burning with the wounds but it wasn’t the worst he had ever lived through and it barely registered beyond the pulsing behind his eyes.

Dean was in the library reading, and Sam briefly wondered what his brother could even be researching, if he had been keeping a tab on potential cases, but he didn’t even bother to ask. Sitting down in the chair next to his brother, Sam fidgeted anxiously, hands clasped between his legs and his eyes anywhere but on Dean.

“Long time no feed, what’s up Sam?”

“I, uh, I wanted, you know…..”

Dean uncrossed the leg that had been folded over his lap, shutting the book he was reading and setting it heavily on the wooden table, turning to Sam with a smirk on his face. Sam didn’t like the way half smiles were always twisting at Dean’s lips now.

“Wanted what? Use your big boy words now, you can say it.”

Sam’s fingers twisted and picked at the cuticles around his nails, eyes paying attention to the little bead of blood in the corner of a thumb when he tore skin away. Brow drawn in consternation, it was still difficult to admit to himself, to vocalize.

“I wanted your blood Dean.”

Looking up, the smirk was wiped off Dean’s face, perfectly still and calm now, as though even his demon of a brother could grasp the gravity of the situation.

“Of course, whenever you need it. Didn’t I tell you Sam, I’ll take care of you. ”

Dean stood and rolled up his sleeve, one faint pink line along his forearm and one more livid red closing up. He was already gaining an amazing regenerative capability. Sam didn’t notice how he licked his lips, just a quick flick of the tongue to wet them, as Dean drew out a pocket knife and slid the glimmer of a blade over tan skin. Blood welled to the surface, soft red in the easy lights of the study, barely beginning to run down the smooth skin when Sam was darting forward to lap it up, eager and resigned.

It tasted different this time. Sam vaguely wondered if Dean was changing or if he was, most likely it was the both of them. He could remember the acclimation period when he had started drinking Ruby’s blood, repulsed at first but the more he drank the more he enjoyed it, and he could feel the slow changes that warped in his body. It changed him mentally too, he knew, but the trade off was worth it. That’s what he needed to believe at least, what he clung to while he shut himself away from seeing so many other things.

Dean tasted like rain wet metal, something that spoke of deep dark places of the earth, he had secrets and stories that were just for Sam, and it felt even more right now than it ever had, to drink his brother’s blood. They were blood, two of the same meld, brothers through thick and thin, and somehow if felt like everything was lining up to slot together. 

Sam couldn’t help the way his body responded as the fervent swelling of energy twined through his limbs. Maybe it was sense memory, a pavlovian response he had succumbed to time and again with Ruby, or maybe it was just the animalistic base rush the blood gave him. It was arousal, curling and twisting in his core with heat and want and hungry teeth. He felt like it could rip out of him, this visceral swelling power as his blood pounded and his heart skipped faster till he could barely draw breath.

Sucking at Dean’s bleeding arm, Sam gave himself to the hunger completely, tongue slipping past his teeth to push into the flesh, tearing it apart and making the blood flow easier, teeth gripping into the flesh and pulling, needing, lips sealing around trying to keep all the blood in his mouth as it flowed faster. When it started to fill his stomach and rush under his skin with increasingly fervent pulse until he grew dizzy and felt like he might burst out of his skin, Sam pulled back, eyes squeezed shut, cock hard in his jeans and blood dripping down his chin. He had left his fingers weakly clutching Dean’s arm but they were loose, floating back down to his lap.

Throat convulsing as he continued to swallow the residue left in his mouth, Sam felt a dense weight settling on his lap, eyes opening to see Dean bare chested straddling his thighs, legs jutting up from his feet resting on the cross bars of the chair, bloodied pocket knife still gripped in his hand.

“Oh so is this why it was so easy for you to keep going back to Ruby, huh? She really gave you what you needed didn’t she Sammy, gave you her blood, gave you her body. You figure you couldn’t find anything like this with me, huh, your brother. We’re more than that, we always have been, I’m the only who has always been there for you, I’m all you need Sam.”

“De, it’s not, it wasn’t like that. You kept telling me, kept fighting with me, telling me how wrong I was, how bad, and Ruby, she made me feel like I could do it, you know, made me feel right.”

“That’s all right, I see your way now, don’t worry about that, gotta use what cards we got don’t we. But I can give you more than she ever did.”

Sam knew what he wanted, knew all the sick things he had thought about his brother in the dark and left there in a corner of his mind with all the atrocious acts he’d committed, sealed them away so he could still manage to function. But Dean was here, warm and close and smelling like blood and sulfur and God when did Sam even start enjoying the smell of sulfur. It didn’t matter because Dean was drawing the knife across his chest, a line of red staining his flesh under the angle of his collar bone. Sam couldn’t believe this was his brother, couldn’t even define it, the pentacle tattoo still inked dark and unbroken on his skin, but Dean wasn’t being possessed, this was just Dean, his body, his soul, all of it.

Practically vibrating with the energy he received from the blood, Sam was too greedy and lost to give up more, bending forward and latching his mouth onto the cut Dean made, licking broad swipes of his tongue along smooth skin and nipping at the flesh, pulling up torn skin and rolling blood on his tongue.

Face pressed to his brothers chest, it took him a moment to recognize the pull of his belt being undone, pants unzipped, and there were hot calloused hands dipping into his pants gripping him tight and pushing fabric down. Sam’s arms came up to circle Dean’s broad torso, fingers digging into skin and burrowing next to his spine, holding on tight as he tensed and relaxed, mouth still enthusiastically exploring red smeared expanses of chest while a slick hand gripped his cock.

There was blood everywhere, that’s what it felt like, dripping down Dean’s arm and slicking his palm as he loosely fisted Sam’s cock, and it was blood smeared across his face and running down his throat as he licked and bit his way across the metal sweet taste of Dean’s skin. Holding on tight, hips twitching up and cock swelling in his brother’s hand, Sam felt the culminating rush of blood and sex like pure undiluted carnality, an indulgence long lost but never forgotten, everything escalating and crashing through his body tempestuous and mad.

Clamping teeth down against a spot along the cut on Dean’s chest that started weakly pulsing blood at his insistence, Sam arched and moaned as he came in Dean’s hand, cock slick with blood and sliding easy as he released, forehead pressed against warm skin and everything smelled like salt and rust.

Sam shivered and let his limbs release Dean when his brother pulled away, standing up, grabbing the shirts he had shed and giving Sam that sweet pleased smile he had seen the other day. Sam leaned back in his chair choking on a sob, hands and mouth bloody, cock and belly wet with his release, and Dean just ran the pads of his fingers over the blood smearing his cheeks, bringing them up to taste as they were sucked through plush lips.

“ Feeling better?”

Sam only managed a grunt in response, feeling over worked and revved up, still quivering with the power, so much blood in his stomach and all over his body, fingers itching to clench and muscles tensing.

“It’s all right, we’ll work it out, you should rest, get ready.”

Sam didn’t know what Dean was telling him to get ready for, couldn’t fathom the plans his brother had for him, but the burn in his body was sweet and he was left sprawled in the chair coming down while everything around him was sharp with a hyper focus and the fluids on his skin were drying sticky.

The third time it happened Sam had gone to him willingly, and got more than he bargained for.


End file.
